Better Sex With A Younger Man
Sex with a younger man makes you feel like a flower just opened, a tiny bird taking wing for the first time, a survivor in a sea of broken dreams. There is no past, no future. Just that glorious moment. Like a camera flash. Like the glimpse of a miracle. Like the surprise half hoped for that you never thought was going to come.
There is nothing like sex with a younger man. His hormones are raging. Soft skin, sweet breath, the salty taste of Mediterranean summers. You can reach out and touch the electricity in the air. You can smell the perfume of your own awe and wonder.
A younger man is like a conquistador discovering a new land. His erections are firm. They last longer if you know how to nurture them, how to build him up slowly, bar by bar like a conductor working towards the canon roar of Tchaikovsky’s 1812.
It has always been my belief that if you are going to go to bed with a man it should be immediately, that night. He who hesitates is lost, an adage I wouldn’t counsel if you are going to stake the ranch on a hand of cards, but if it’s a younger man trying to crawl into your bedsheets the time is now.
Younger Man Reader
I have a weakness for men who read good books. I met Ramon at the Café Zurich in Barcelona, a bar where George Orwell mingled with fellow anti-fascists during the Spanish Civil War and made notes for Homage to Catalonia, his moving account of the conflict.
Ramon had read Orwell. He liked Michel Houellebecq (The Art of Struggle) and Chuck Palahniuk (Fight Club). He was 23, intense, big liquidy eyes and thick dark wavy hair. He was at uni with my friend Nuria and when she disappeared with Eloy, an old boyfriend, the walk along Calle Diputacion to my flat with Ramon was both inevitable and surprising.
He dropped his jacket on the floor. We kissed and the syrupy sweet smell of the fig tree below the balcony wafted into the room like an aphrodisiac. Sex with a younger man is fierce, fervent, breathless. A younger man evokes memories of those nymphomaniac years when the only time you got off your back was to roll over on to your stomach. You feel renewed, reborn, completely alive.
A younger man moves you this way and that way as if you are or a mound of wet clay he is sculpting into something sensual and abstract. A switch clicks in your head and the light it turns on burns still on your cheeks the morning after. Your face has changed, your expression is different. There’s an impish curl about your lips and your eyelids peel back to reveal sparkly eyes like green full moons.
In December, I had turned 30. The new decade clicking over was like a hammer blow reminding me of all the things I had wanted to do and had still not done. Suddenly, it didn’t matter. I would go back to my list of 30 Things To Do Before 30 and do them before I was 31.
When you date men of 35 or more they scrutinise you as a potential vessel to carry their genes into the future. They are not looking at you as a potential sex partner but life partner. Their sideways glance across the table at dinner causes instant migraine, a need to go to the bathroom, a feeling that your shoes are too tight. It is that look that puts lines on your face and turns the light off inside your head.
When you go to bed with a younger man there is no past and no future. It is just sex the way sex should be, free, primal, a beautiful indulgence. You sleep like a newborn and wake with the promise of morning sex, the light stripy through the blinds and his taste lingering in your mouth.
And one last thing, younger men, you will almost certainly learn something when you have sex with an older woman.
5***** “They just don’t write books like this anymore. Thurlow spins a tale like she’s travelled to us from a classier time to bring fine literature to the masses,” India Reid
5***** “The finest writer of our generation,” Ingrid Druslan
5***** “Chloe Thurlow is the Anaïs Nin of our times,” Katie Dylan